


The Poison of Revenge

by Zutara90



Series: The Witcher of Rivia [1]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-29
Updated: 2017-08-29
Packaged: 2018-12-21 06:01:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,907
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11937846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zutara90/pseuds/Zutara90
Summary: Someone is hunting witchers. When Geralt and Yennefer set out to find this person, they are unpleasantly surprised by what they find. Has Geralt finally met his match?





	1. Chapter 1

**Prologue**

No witcher ever dies in his own bed.

That was the thought running through the witcher’s mind as he drew his last breath. The blonde witcher collapsed into the dirt, a sword protruding from his chest. His vertical pupils dilated as blood dribbled from his mouth.

Behind him, a man grasped the hilt of the sword. With a crunch, he yanked it free. Wiping the blade on the witcher’s jerkin, the man looked down at his victim with disgust, hatred. He would find them all. And end them.

**Chapter One**

Geralt looked up to see Yennefer striding toward his table. He was sitting alone with a half-empty mug in front of him. Two days ago she had asked him to meet her here, in a small village in northern Velen. Since arriving yesterday, he had bided his time in the local tavern. Now, it seemed, he would finally get some answers.

“Geralt, I’m glad you came.”

“Didn’t really give me a choice, did you?” Geralt downed the last of his drink.

“All the same, I knew I had to warn you. Surely you’ve heard the rumors?”

“Hard not to. Especially here.” He gestured around the room. “They’ve been talking about nothing else since I arrived.”

“Yes, well. Your presence would set people on edge on a good day”-- Yennefer dropped her voice—“but with someone out there murdering witchers...”

“Can I assume then, that you have seen the bodies?”

“Yes. All five were killed with a sword. The last of which was found not far from here, near the woods. Radovid has put a price on his head.”

Geralt raised his eyebrows. “Strange, that a king would care so much about witchers.”

“It’s not about witchers. It’s about a madman running around killing people in Velen. A little too close to Novigrad for Radovid’s comfort, it would seem.”

“Madman, huh? Guess it takes one to know one,” Geralt remarked sarcastically.

“This is serious, Geralt,” Yennefer chided, “And mad or not, Radovid is willing to pay a small fortune to put this man behind bars, or in the ground. Seeing as how this man also poses a threat to your life, it only makes sense that we go after him.”  
“What do you mean, we?”

The barmaid ambled over to their table, inquiring whether they wanted to order drinks, but Geralt dismissed her with a wave of his hand.

“If I simply wanted to give you information, I could have done so without trekking across the country to this flea-infested inn. This man is dangerous, Geralt, and I’m here to help you.”

“Alright, fine. Can we still examine the bodies?”

Yennefer shook her head. “Burned.”

“Well, how fortunate that the most recent crime scene is so close then. It’s almost as if you planned this the whole time.”

Yennefer gave Geralt a knowing grin. “Shall we go?” she asked, already rising.

“Lead the way.”

\-----

They were several miles from town when they came upon the forest ahead of them. The path cut between the trees and disappeared into its depths. To the right, the trees wound through the countryside before vanishing over a small cliff. Further to the left was a large mound. The sun was nearing the horizon. It cast long shadows over the landscape, throwing everything into sharp relief.

“It’s just over there, near that hillock.” Yennefer pointed to the left.

They left the path and made their way over to the spot of the murder, a faint blood stain still evident on the ground.

Geralt walked over to the blood. He squatted down next to it, searching for clues. Nothing seemed to be out of the ordinary, aside from the blood. No scraps of cloth. There were several types of hair present, but all from local animals—wolves, horses, dogs. He rose and scanned the surrounding area.

“You know, Geralt—” Yennefer started to say.

“Shh!” Geralt hissed. His inhuman hearing had picked up a small sound somewhere nearby- a rustling in the grass. He paused, listening intently for the source of the sound; meanwhile scanning his surroundings for signs of danger. It was coming from just behind the nearby hill, not twenty yards away. How could it have snuck up so close to us without me hearing it, he thought, his medallion humming. Something was wrong, but Geralt didn’t need his medallion to tell him that. He hadn’t survived this long without relying on instinct. Whatever was out there, it was dangerous; that was for sure. Anything that had the knowledge and skill to stalk a witcher was not to be trifled with. His hand lingered by the hilt of his sword.

“Yen--” Geralt warned as he drew his sword, a metallic hiss ringing through the air as it was unsheathed. He had sensed something in the air. But his warning fell flat. The air behind Geralt suddenly caved in, encompassing Yennefer in a magic sphere of energy. A slight crackling rolled off of the sphere and a faint purple glow emanated from its surface. Geralt went to move toward it, to break Yennefer free of her new prison.

“Wait, Geralt!” yelled Yennefer. He came to a halt, his hand inches from the barrier. “It’s some form of Yrden. I’ve never seen anything like it. I think it would be unwise to try to break it by force.”

Was it fear or awe that he glimpsed in her face? Either way, it wasn’t good. He had to get her out of there and soon. But where had it even come from?

“Yen, can you break yourself out of there?”

“No. Geralt, I don’t know what this is, but I can’t use my magic at all.”

“Indeed, she can’t.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

The voice came from behind Geralt, where he had sensed the noise a moment ago. Geralt spun, sword coming up to the ready. A man had stepped out from behind the hill. He was of average height with dark hair and even darker eyes. It wasn’t the color that disturbed Geralt; it was the intent within—murder. That is what Geralt saw in those eyes and he knew instantly that his first instinct had been correct; this was not a man to underestimate. On his back, the man carried a sword, with a small dagger at his waist. The sword wasn’t flashy, but Geralt could tell it was well-crafted. It wasn’t a king’s sword. One to sit idly on his hip as nothing more than a symbol of status; no, this sword was purely utilitarian. It had only one purpose-- to kill. The man walked calmly towards the witcher, his step sure, calculated. He had a smile on his face; a smile that did nothing to dispel the darkness in his eyes.

“What do you want with us?” Geralt queried.

“Oh, I think you know the answer to that. You are the ones who came seeking me.”

“You’re the one killing witchers.” It wasn’t a question. Geralt didn’t need to ask when the answer was written all over the dark-haired man’s face.

“You use that name like it is a title; something to be proud of,” the man spat. “Witchers indeed. You are nothing more than monsters. Monsters like those you claim to destroy.”

“Got something against witchers?” Geralt didn’t really need to ask the question. It was very clear that the man did, but the longer he kept him talking, the more time he had to figure a way out of this, or at the very least, how to kill the man.

“You might as well know the story,” the man said. “After all, it will be the last one you ever hear.” A snarl came to Geralt’s lips, but he kept quiet, waiting for the right moment.

“I used to live in a small town not far from here. It was a quiet place, peaceful even. Until one day, two young boys went missing. No one thought anything of it at the time. It was common for boys to run away. Usually they came back in a day or two, tired and hungry, but no worse for wear. But these boys did not come back. Soon after, their mother went missing too. It wasn’t until then that a search party went out and found their bodies dead in the forest outside of town. Not a week after that, a young couple was found dead as well. A noonwraith had killed them—and it seemed to be getting closer.

“The whole town went into a panic. A town meeting was called where, after a heated debate, it was decided that we would hire a witcher. Everyone had to scrape together their life’s savings to afford one, but it was better that than end up dead.

“At last our savior arrived and agreed to help us. The witcher wasn’t happy when the negotiations were over, but the village elder told him we could not afford any more coin than what we had already offered. The witcher demanded that the village pay upfront and, under the circumstances, we could not afford to refuse. The noonwraith loomed ever closer. It was only a matter of time before it destroyed the village altogether. The payment decided, the witcher told us that by the end of the week, the noonwraith would be gone and we could go back to living our lives.

“Not wanting me to be in harm’s way should the battle with the noonwraith go badly, my father sent me to the neighboring town that night. We had a few goods to sell anyway, so I was to fetch whatever I could for them and return in a few days’ time. On the third day, as I drew near the village, I knew something was wrong. There was smoke, too much smoke. I ran as fast as I could, but it was already too late.

“The town had been burned to the ground with the townspeople’s bodies still inside. At first, I thought that maybe my father had been right in sending me away; that the witcher hadn’t been capable of killing the noonwraith and it had attacked the village in revenge. As I walked through the wreckage however, I pieced together a different story.

“It was clear the noonwraith had attacked, but one key element was missing. The witcher’s body was nowhere to be found. If indeed the battle had gone badly, then he would have been there, dead. There was no sign of him. Just my friends and family…slaughtered. Every last one. The coward took our money and left us to die.

“He was a coward like all witchers. Including you, Geralt of Rivia.”

“How do you know my name?” Geralt shot at the man.

“I know all the witchers by name. And who has not heard of the great witcher Geralt, the White Wolf, who travels with the raven-haired sorceress, Yennefer?”

“It would seem I’m at a disadvantage. You never told me who you were.”

“I have no name. That witcher stripped me of everything I had, everything I was. The only thing I have left is revenge.”

“Look, I’m sorry for what happened to you, truly,” Geralt placated, “and there is no denying that the witcher who came to your town deserves punishment for what he did. But not all witchers can be held accountable for one man’s actions.”

“You can’t talk your way out of this, witcher.”

“Either way, I can’t let you keep killing. Come with me quietly, or this will end badly for you.”

“Humph. We shall see. I’ve spent every waking moment since that day training; learning how to fight so that one day I could avenge my family and my town. I found him a few months back, the witcher that had taken my whole life from me. Believe me, he experienced every bit of pain that my whole village felt; that I felt when I had found them. It was only then that I realized that it wasn’t only him that needed to die. Your entire breed shares his faults. You are mutants, monsters, and you shall all die!”

Even with his enhanced reflexes, Geralt barely had time to register the man flying towards him with his sword drawn. At the last second, Geralt deflected the blow and struck back. The man easily parried Geralt’s sword. As the battle raged, it soon became clear that the man was not only an expert swordsman, but he had a natural gift. The man swung his sword as if it were no more than an extension of his arm. Geralt could not gain any ground against him. Every time Geralt went to strike, the man’s sword would simply appear in exactly the right place to block and then strike back with blinding speed.  
Geralt threw an Igni sign at the man, but somehow it merely parted around him and passed harmlessly to either side.

“I wouldn’t bother if I were you,” he laughed. “You didn’t think I came into this fight unprepared, did you? I’ve learned every trick you witchers have up your sleeves and how to counteract them. Your magic won’t work on me. How do you think I was able to ensnare your sorceress friend? The magic that flows through my veins is stronger than anything you have ever seen. But don’t worry; I don’t want to kill you with magic. No that would be too merciful a death. So come at me, I want to see how I fare against the great Geralt of Rivia.”

Geralt let loose a battle cry as he ran at the man, sword dancing in every possible way he could think of. Spinning and slashing from every angle, Geralt finally landed a blow on the man’s upper arm. It was a small cut, but at least Geralt had been the first to draw blood.

“I’m impressed. The other witchers didn’t last nearly this long, let alone draw blood,” the man mused, glancing at his wound. “You truly are as good as they say.”

Geralt’s respite didn’t last long as the man charged at him, sword swinging faster than Geralt could parry. Geralt dodged and rolled to the left, coming to his feet just in time to block an overhead blow. Both men spun to the right and their swords clashed as they met in the middle, creating a cross of steel and leather. Each man vied to gain the upper hand, faces mere inches apart over their opposing swords. Just as Geralt went to lean in and shove him back, the man abruptly stepped to his left, throwing Geralt off balance and exposing his right side.

In a flash of steel, the man slid free his sheathed dagger and plunged it into Geralt’s side.

“Geralt!” Yennefer cried. Powerless to aid her friend, she banged futilely against the magic shield.

Geralt groaned as the dagger slid home, narrowly missing his ribs. He staggered and tried to raise his sword, but his arm had gone numb and he could do nothing as it fell from his grasp. With a massive effort, he wrenched the dagger from his side, meagerly throwing it in front of him before he collapsed to his hands and knees. His breath came in ragged gasps. Warm blood was trickling down his side, but he barely felt it as darkness started to sweep over him. It was all he could do just to kneel there and breathe. Still, he heard the man walk up to him and his boots came into his field of vision.

“It seems I didn’t fare too badly. Too bad the same can’t be said for you.” The man leaned in closer to Geralt, placing his face next to Geralt’s ear, now speaking in barely more than a whisper. “Maybe I should visit that ward of yours next. She may not technically be a witcher, but for her, I’d make an exception. What was her name again? Ahh, yes—Cirilla. I’ll tell her you said hello—.”

Upon hearing Ciri’s name, Geralt had grabbed his fallen sword and stabbed toward the man’s face. The man had dodged the attack, but just barely. A cut extending from his left cheek to the man’s brow was a testament to how close Geralt had come to victory.

“How--?” But the man never had time to ask. With his sudden resurgence, Geralt had thrown the man off balance, physically and mentally. Geralt kept driving forward, slashing and hacking in a frenzy brought on by the mention of Ciri’s name and the threat to her life. In one final movement, Geralt spun and slashed at the back of the man’s left knee, cutting through muscle and tendons and bringing him to his knees.

“Aaaaaaaaaaagh!” the man cried out as steel tore through his leg which immediately gave out beneath him. “This..is..not…possible,” he gasped between clenched teeth, “No one has ever...survived my blade.”

“Sorry to disappoint,” Geralt said with a sneer, then added, “You should have just come quietly.” And with that, Geralt whirled once in the air and brought his sword down on the man’s neck, severing his head in one, final blow. The battle finally over, Geralt’s knees sagged and he collapsed, the darkness returning.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

The magic barrier surrounding Yennefer disappeared instantly. The magic had been severed along with the man’s head. Yennefer ran to Geralt. He had collapsed as soon as she drew near.

“Geralt?” Yennefer asked uncertainly. He was still conscious and breathing, but she could see he was fading, the wound in his side taking its toll. She had to get him somewhere safe; somewhere he could rest and recover. First, she had to get him standing.

“Geralt, we need to get out of here, it’s not safe.” As if to confirm her statement, a howl rent the air from the trees nearby. The wolves had been drawn to the smell of blood, but had so far been kept at bay by the sounds of the battle. With the commotion now over, they were more willing to investigate a potential meal.

Slowly, Geralt rose to his feet. Yennefer had already wiped his sword clean and stowed it in its sheath on Geralt’s back. Geralt tried to hide his pain, but Yennefer could tell he was in bad shape. Grabbing his side with his left hand and wrapping his right arm around Yennefer’s shoulders, Geralt and Yennefer moved slowly toward the road.

“Come on, I think I saw a cabin just a little ways up the road. It didn’t look like anybody lived there. Even if someone does, I don’t think anyone will turn down a polite request from a witcher and a sorceress,” Yennefer said giving Geralt a wry smile. The statement elicited a weak smile from Geralt and they gradually made their way down the path.

\-----

The cabin was no more than a mile away, but that was a sufficient distance to drain what remained of Geralt’s strength. With each step he took, he grew weaker and weaker. Blood soaked down his right side, leaving a faint trail behind them. His eyes acquired a dull glaze over them and stared unfocused at the dirt immediately in front of him. His feet began to drag, his breathing becoming more and more labored. It took all of his focus just to put one foot in front of the other. Yennefer was practically carrying him by the time they arrived at the door.

Luckily for the pair, the shack was indeed uninhabited. Yennefer opened the door, the hinges creaking with disuse. The cabin was small. The entirety of the interior comprised one room. A bed was pushed against the back left corner with a small fireplace next to it. A handful of firewood was scattered in front of the hearth. On the other side of the hut was a quaint kitchen. A simple table and two wooden chairs sat in front of the stove. The interior was dark, illuminated only by the light of the full moon streaming through the two windows on the back wall.

Yennefer steered Geralt toward the bed and laid him in it, a soft groan escaping his lips. He was barely conscious at this point, but she didn’t think he was in any immediate danger; at least not of dying. She just needed to stanch the bleeding and let him sleep. His accelerated healing would take it from there. At the foot of the bed lay a relatively clean blanket. She tore a strip from it and bound his wound. Satisfied that this had stemmed the bleeding, she turned her attention toward starting a fire, Geralt watching dazedly as she did so.

“Get some rest,” she told him as the flames sprang to life.

“Thanks, Yen,” was all he could get out before exhaustion finally settled over him and he drifted into unconsciousness.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

Geralt was running. Running where, he didn’t know. He didn’t even know where he was. Only that it was cold, so bitterly cold. The forest path stretched endlessly in front of him. On either side, the trees loomed over him, covered in frost. They almost seemed to reach for him as he passed; their branches like dead, icy fingers seeking to grab hold of him. All he could do was keep moving in the hopes of escaping their clutches.

After what seemed like an eternity, his feet had carried him into a clearing. The clearing was a perfect circle no more than one hundred feet across and surrounded on all sides by the ever-looming forest. Why would the path have led me here, he thought. Geralt revolved slowly to survey his new surroundings, but when he glanced behind him, the path had disappeared. The clearing had turned into a prison with no entrance and no exit save through the forest, but something told him that it would be unwise to enter those trees.

As Geralt turned to face the clearing once more, something about it had changed. It was silent. No rustling of leaves through the trees, no wind to stir the air. The dead air brought with it a sudden chill. Geralt not only felt the chill on his face, but it wound its way up his spine, raising the hairs on the back of his neck and setting him on edge.

In that moment, there was a blinding flash from the middle of the clearing. A portal had opened, bringing with it a gust of howling wind that slammed into Geralt, knocking him back slightly. Geralt brought his hand up to shield his eyes from the swirling snow and icy wind.

When the torrent of air finally quelled, Geralt’s heart leapt into his throat. There, stepping out of the portal, was Eredin, King of the Wild Hunt.

\-----

Yennefer jolted awake. She was still sitting in the chair she had pulled next to Geralt’s bed. She must have dozed off. Embers glowed dully in the fireplace and Yennefer rose to set another log over them. Flames licked lazily up the side of the log until it caught. Shaking the drowsiness from her head, she looked over at Geralt. Something was wrong.

He was drenched in sweat and shivering uncontrollably. His eyes were closed, but she could see his eyes moving back and forth rapidly beneath their lids. She placed her hand on his forehead—he was burning up.

An infection couldn’t have set in this quickly, she thought as she went to check his wound. The wound had been clean when she had wrapped it and the cloth couldn’t have been that dirty for infection to have taken hold so hastily. She unwrapped the strip of cloth from his side and gasped. The edges of the wound were black. Dark purple veins spider-webbed their way out from the lips of the wound until they slowly faded back into Geralt’s chest.

Poison.

Fighting down panic, Yennefer didn’t have time to consider what kind of poison now ran through Geralt’s veins or why it had taken this long to have any effect. Summoning her magic, she started chanting.

\-----

Geralt squared his shoulders and faced Eredin, drawing his sword. Geralt knew he had a slim chance of defeating Eredin, especially in these conditions; caught unawares with no supplies or allies to aid him. Still, he wasn’t about to let Eredin see this in his face, though Eredin likely knew it already.

“Hehehe.” A cold, harsh laugh. As cold and black as the skeletal plate that encased Eredin. “Geralt of Rivia.”

Geralt sprang at Eredin, sword already mid-swing. He knew there was no point in waiting. Eredin would never let Geralt talk his way out. No, this meeting could only end one of two ways-- in Geralt’s death, or Eredin’s. Geralt’s only choice was to take Eredin by surprise, try to catch him off guard in his assumption that Geralt would wait to see how the conversation played out.

But this decision came to no avail. As though swatting a bothersome fly, Eredin knocked aside Geralt’s sword. At the same time, Eredin shot a blast of magic at Geralt, knocking him back and pinning him in place. Geralt was forced to his knees, bound by some invisible magic and unable to move. He could only glare up at Eredin, who strode leisurely towards the witcher.

“Now, Geralt, you’re going to tell me where Cirilla is.” Eredin had made his way up to Geralt, until he stood right before him.

Geralt didn’t deign to answer. He merely looked up at the skeletal mask covering Eredin’s face, those dark eyes boring into Geralt’s own.

“Very well. Nothing loosens a man’s tongue like pain.” Bolts of lightning shot from Eredin’s hand straight into Geralt’s chest.

Unable to move, Geralt could only watch as the lightning surged into his body. Every nerve exploded in agony, like a thousand hot knives stabbing every inch of his body. Geralt stifled his cry; jaw clenched so hard it felt like his teeth would crack. Blinding. The pain was blinding and would have soon sent Geralt over the edge into unconsciousness. But just as quickly as it had begun, the pain vanished, leaving behind a sensation of pins and needles that slowly drained away.

Panting, Geralt regained focus enough to hear Eredin talking once again.

“That was but a taste of my power, witcher. This is your last chance. Where is Cirilla?”

“You should… know better,” Geralt said through gritted teeth, his breath hitching. “I will never… tell you where… she is.” Geralt could never, would never, endanger his ward, his precious Ciri. He was willing to sacrifice anything to keep her safe. Anything. Even if it meant enduring torture and death. His life for hers. He would gladly make that deal any day.

“You try my patience, witcher. That is unwise.”

For a second time, the agony hit Geralt like a charging fiend, but exponentially more intense. This time, there was nothing Geralt could do to stifle his cry. He couldn’t see. He couldn’t think. His only reality was pain. The only thing retaining his sanity was the thought of Ciri. At least she was safe, if only for a moment more.

Geralt’s cries tore through the night.

\-----

The moment Yennefer had placed her hands over the wound and begun her spell, the veins started to spread. It was as if the poison knew her intent and sought to finish its job before she could draw it out. The veins had started out covering only inches surrounding the wound, but they clawed their way to the other side of Geralt’s torso and were tearing upwards, towards his heart.

Chanting as fast as she could without making any mistakes, Yennefer watched as the poison wreaked havoc on Geralt’s body.

He was screaming. Screaming as though someone were burning him alive. His back was arched off of the bed. His every muscle was tighter than a bowstring.

The veins continued to climb over Geralt’s chest, worming their way to his neck. Yennefer wasn’t sure how far the poison could spread before it would be too late to save Geralt and she watched in horror as the tendrils crested over his collarbones. This was no time for caution. If she didn’t finish her spell soon, he would die. She started chanting faster.

\-----

Geralt didn’t know how he had stayed conscious through Eredin’s magical onslaught. It would have been better had he not. Perhaps it was part of Eredin’s magic that had kept him from slipping away into unconsciousness, making sure that the victim experienced every second of torment. By this point, Geralt’s throat was raw from shouting and tremors racked his body.

But, mercifully, the pain had ceased. Eredin had let up his assault. Geralt did not know why, nor did he have the wherewithal to consider it. He simply gazed dazedly up at Eredin, trying to muster what strength he had left.

“I tire of this witcher. I can see in your eyes that you will not yield and I have neither the time nor the patience to continue with this interrogation.” Eredin had not a hint of emotion in his voice. If anything, boredom laced his words. “You shall die.”

In one long stride he set upon Geralt and, grabbing him by the neck, lifted him into the air with one hand, choking him. Geralt’s feet, finding no purchase, could only kick and flail beneath him. He grabbed onto Eredin’s arm with both hands, trying in vain to pry the armored fingers from around his throat. He fought desperately to breathe, but the life was being crushed out of Geralt. He could draw no breath and the more he struggled, the more Eredin tightened his grip. It was a miracle Geralt’s neck didn’t snap outright.

Geralt gasped and choked, his world closing in around him. His arms were going limp, his eyes rolling up into his head. With his last thought, Geralt again thought of Ciri, hoping against hope that she would not share his end.

Eredin smiled. “Hehehe…”

The fire behind Geralt’s eyes sputtered. Then died.

\-----

Silence. This was the sound Yennefer didn’t think possible; a sound worse than the horrific cries issuing from Geralt’s mouth. As the poison spread up Geralt’s neck, he ceased to scream. Ceased to breathe. He was left gasping for air, his mouth opening and closing pointlessly.

The veins drew steadily upward, over Geralt’s chin and wrapping around behind his head, reaching forward toward his eyes.

Yennefer’s spell was almost done. A few more seconds. Just a few more seconds was all she needed. In the midst of her furious chanting, Yennefer watched as Geralt’s eyes rolled up into his head, only the whites showing beneath the half-closed lids. His face paled. His lips were turning blue.

Practically shouting the last word, Yennefer completed her spell.

In a swirl of air and light, Geralt’s body was drawn upward from the point of the wound, his back pulled up off of the mattress. The poison, having just touched Geralt’s eyes, hastily withdrew. The veins retreated from their positions towards their point of origin as though time were running in reverse. Once the poison had withdrawn completely, it vanished upwards with the remnants of the spell, leaving behind only a faint purple tinge to the wound.

Geralt’s body crashed back onto the bed. He laid still, his head cocked to the side.

“Geralt?” Yennefer asked tentatively, searching for signs of life. He wasn’t breathing. “Geralt!” She placed her ear to his chest—nothing. “GERALT!”

But he lay unmoving.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five**

Somewhere in the distance, Geralt could hear a voice. It was a woman's. But it was muddled, hazy, as though heard through water. Then it hit him. He was drowning. Drowning in a never-ending sea of darkness.

But the voice kept sounding and a dim light appeared in front of him, beckoning. Frantically, he swam towards the light.

Slowly, too slowly, the light grew before him. The voice became clearer. It was calling his name, spurring him onward. With every ounce of strength he had, he kicked toward the light, but it was just too far. His lungs were on fire. He wasn't going to make it.

He stretched out his hand, desperately reaching for the light.

The voice was deafening in his ears. "GERALT!"

\-----

With a great, rasping breath, Geralt jolted awake, sending Yennefer stumbling back into her chair. Geralt gasped for air, his eyes unfocused but searching.

"Ciri!" Geralt said with a panic, his eyes darting.

"What?" Yennefer replied, still stunned by his sudden resurrection.

"Where's Ciri?"

"Geralt, Ciri's not here." Yennefer leaned in closer until Geralt's eyes at last settled on her face.

"Ye- Yen?" He had finally caught his breath.

"Yes, Geralt. I'm here."

Geralt glanced around the room, his memory returning. The murderer, the dagger, the cabin, and then…

"What happened?"

"You were poisoned, Geralt. That man must have tipped his dagger with it. Bah! I should have seen this sooner. That was why he couldn't believe it when you recovered and struck him down. He must have known the poison would act quickly. But I can't figure out why it didn't."

"Golden oriole," Geralt muttered, looking down.

"What?"

He looked back into her eyes. "I downed a golden oriole potion not long before I met you in that village. Ran into some endregas. The potion must have been lingering in my system long enough to delay the effects, but not counter them entirely." Geralt groaned as he pushed himself up against the headboard. "How did you manage to counteract it?"

"A spell. A very complicated one. I nearly didn't finish in time." A darkness crept over her eyes at these words. A change that didn't escape Geralt's notice.

Quietly, he asked, "Yen, what happened?"

"At first I thought there must have been an infection, though I couldn't figure how. You were covered in sweat, running a very high fever. Then you started… convulsing. The poison spread and it must have caused you great pain because you were screaming like a witch burned at the stake. When it reached your neck, you couldn't breathe. I was losing you. I barely completed the spell before the poison took you. Even then…"

It all made sense to him now. His vision of Eredin. All nothing but febrile delirium turning his fears into reality. His mind was trying to assign a reason for the pain and suffering. That, unfortunately, had been all too real.

Her eyes misted over. "I already lost you once, I can't do it again."

"You didn't." He flashed her a smile, willing her to meet his eyes. "You saved my life."

He winced again when he shifted slightly in the bed.

"Enough talk for now. The poison may be gone, but you are still wounded. And who knows what lasting effects the poison may have left behind. You need to rest." The mist in her eyes was gone, replaced by a smile that had not been there for a long time.

Geralt obeyed and lay back down, getting as comfortable as he could under the circumstances.

Yennefer leaned over and kissed him gently on the forehead. The smell of lilac and gooseberries invaded Geralt's senses. She pulled back and looked him in his cat eyes. "Just promise me you will wake up this time." She gave him a sarcastic grin.

"I promise."

THE END


End file.
